Send Bob To Mars!!!

I was just reading a really good article on ADD and

I've just had a brilliant idea.  BRILLIANT!
 
I'll offer my wares, so to speak, on Ebay.
 
I may have to open a second bank account to hold all of the money.
 
At least I'm not selling rubbish.

Spanky threw-up on my blog, so instead of re-writing my ideas for a manure-powered rocketship, I’ll review a movie I saw in a local cheap theater that plays older flicks.

There comes a time in one’s life in which one goes through a movie-going experience so incredible, so utterly fantastic, so completely earth-shattering that s/he is changed forever.  I’m still waiting for that moment, but in the meantime, here is my experience whilst sneaking into, “Mission to Mars.”

The highpoint of the movie occurred when I was lounging about near the concession counter waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting bag of someone else’s popcorn so that I might ‘sample’ a bit.  I do have standards, after all, and there ain’t no way I’m paying four bucks for some damnably stale popcorn slathered with some motor oil or whatever the hell that stuff is.

I was growing short of patience when I noticed…her.  An attractive lass across the lobby.  I gathered up my courage, sucked in my gut, walked up to her and introduced myself.  “Greetings!” I shouted in a loud and confident voice.  “I hate to name drop, but I’m Bob.  You know…like in Mars and sheep and whatnot?”

Before she had a chance to praise me, I found myself inexplicably drawn to heave my heart onto my sleeve.

“Oh, sure, I may not look like much,” I said, tears welling in my bloodshot eyes, “A few scars from an unfortunate accident with an off-brand industrial chemical set my parents bought for me when I was two years old.  A bit of a large gut, uncontrollable sweating, perhaps a few ‘alleged’ incidents involving running naked through McDonald’s, eating food randomly from other people’s trays while distracting them by singing the theme from, “The Love Boat” at the top of my lungs, and other disease-related things.  I suppose things like this make me unappealing to some.”

“What?  You were expecting maybe Leonardo DiCaprio?”

I jumped up and down and began to dance around her, screaming, “Oh, oh oh!  Look at me!  I’m Leonardo!  I’m the hero in some stupid-ass boat movie!  OOOH OOOH!  Look!  I’m Leonardo and I weight 80 pounds soaking wet, yet I play the lead man and I save some chubby girl even though I can’t wipe my own ass without special help!”

I carried on emotionally as tears gushed down my face in a river of righteous indignation.  “I’ve had my share of hurt!  I may have my problems, but I’m a human being!  I’ve got dreams and hopes and aspirations like anyone!  Do you not realize it was President Gerald Ford himself who once said, ‘Even we chubby bastards need love as well and hamburgers now and then?’  DON’T YOU?!?

There I was, on my knees, screaming and weeping, when suddenly the girl’s parents came by, gave me a nasty look, grabbed her and took her into “Toy Story 2.”

I gathered myself up, grabbed a bag of popcorn that someone had foolishly left on the counter while tying their shoes, and went in to see, “Mission to Mars.”

It was okay, I guess.  Some morons go up in a rocket, drink a lot of Tang, use those little toilets with that crazy blue water in it, and they go to Mars.  I think everybody dies, but I don’t remember.

I Stole another movie from the loser video rental place in town. Snooky is on another bourbon bender, thus I’ve found ‘tis better to leave her until she sleeps it off. More of Snooky’s embarrassing antics can be found at http://www.sendbobtomars.com. Anyway, I got that movie “Magnolias.”

The hype alone made me want to see “Magnolias”. I, as part of the elite movie-viewing public, have finally accepted the fact that if a movie is promoted enough on TV, radio, newspapers, web, graffiti, blogs and shaved in sheep (my personal favorite), we have no choice but to fork over our hard-earned allowance money and see the film. Magnolias is such a movie. Oh, I’ve seen the hype…and all I can say is: FRAUDULENT!

The trailer features such prominent actors as Tom Cruise and some guy in a hospital, and…er, that guy with the big nose. But when I finally inserted the movie into my Betamax, it was nothing but chicks! Julia Roberts, Dolly Parton, Darryl Hannah, Shirley MacClaine, and that chick with the huge nose. Oh…and that tiny, whiny brunette from “Smokey and the Bandit.”

I forced myself to watch it, and the sheer boredom made me want to gouge out my eyes with sheep hoofs. The plot consists of a bunch of women sitting around some hair salon talking about picnics and rotten husbands until finally Julia Roberts gets so frustrated with it all that she has a seizure and dies, and then everybody laughs and has a picnic and an Easter bunny drives up on a motorcycle and drives somebody somewhere.

But…you know, “chick flicks” aren’t all bad, if you sit and think about it, which I do frequently. Julia Roberts, for instance. Oh, sure she may have a mouth like a horse and a laugh like a hyena on crack, but she’s rich and female, which pretty much satisfies all three of my requirements for eternal love and happiness.

Then I got to thinking…I’ve never had much luck with girls. No, they don’t seem to have much time for a simple, sensitive, intelligent, sheep-loving guy with a bit of a gut, a few oozing, open sores, a penchant for booze and scratching and perhaps collecting the occasional roadkill carcass for his kick-ass “Dead Zoo” in his parent’s basement where he still lives.

But Julia, I think, would be different. We would traipse about the daisies, singing little happy-like songs and running naked into each other’s arms. I can already hear her singing, “Beer Barrel Polka” whilst I am tickled under the chin by a brutish German midget. Sure, some might call that some silly pipe-dream, but we have to reach for the stars, damn it! As President Eisenhower once said, “If you don’t reach for the stars, don’t drag your welfare-soaking ass to Illinois or I’ll put the smackdown on yo ass.”

Oh, and another thing, these idiot producers need to finalize a name. “OOOOooh, oh, I like “Magnolia!” “No, no, no, I like Steel Magnolias!” How is a young Jewish sheep friend who has a thing for Gary Coleman supposed to keep his Magnolia movies straight? At least I didn’t pay for it. Anyway, 2 out of a lot of stars for “Magnolia.”

The sheep are starting to get uppity; mostly Spanky.

I remember the days when we use to frolic and play and dance and be whismical and throw up and run about singing showtunes and giggling like school girls.

Lately, Spanky has taken to the whiskey, and has been quite abusive. Spanky doubts our mission, and it makes me sad to think that such a soul, once pure and innocent, has taken to sourness and nastiness and jokes about my freakish body odor.

It is times like this that I begin to lose hope, and long for the simply days of selling used fruit with nary a care in the world.

Whilst pondering my Mars plans, I decided to take a break and 'borrow' a dvd from a local video store. X-Men Files something something.

Oh, so now Dana Sculley "Dana Scully the Skullmeister" Skully is up to the big time! Some idiots gave her and that Fox guy some cash to star in a feature movie, and now they're too good for the common man. Well, I happen to know a secret...Dana Sculley is not that chick's real name. It is, in fact, Gillian Anderson.

How do I know? Well, I'm glad you asked.

It was a long time ago, whilst I was a naive, young fruit boy in the streets of San Diego. Oh, I would be up at dawn, distributing pre-chewed fruit to those who so desired. It was a thankless job, but at least there was no recognition. One day, I dropped a mushed banana at the feet of, yes, that red-headed siren, Gillian.

"What the hell?!?" she said, with just a touch of indignation. I simply smiled and stared longingly, and said, "You will be mine, sweet vixen."

She laughed that patronizing laugh I'll forever remember, and she walked away. Even now, the smell of bruised banana wafts through my brain as I hear that red-head's hyena cackle.

Well, she soon learned my seriousness as I made my camp, and thus made my eternal stand. For three weeks, I slept on the steps of her apartment, crooning, "Do you really want to hurt me" by that boy-genius Boy George, and lighting pyres on her front lawn with such messages as, "Join me and my sheep!", and "Spanky Rulez.”

Well, despite the 5 policeman it took to vacate me from the premises, my love burned on. It was only through several ill-fated break-ins, 4 bullets to the thorax, a restraining order and 2 years of prison time that I finally realized she wasn't for me.

Now I'm my own man, and I have some semblance of dignity. Luckily, I've learned to reach for more probable goals. Like that Natalie Portman. Now THERE is a honey of a yummy of a woman if I've ever seen one.

I recently learned that she has a summer cabin in Northern Minnesota. Having found the address through means of a highly-illegal nature, I located the cabin. I drove by it several times, but not seeing a light, I nearly drove away. Not driving away, I let myself in a basement window, and romantically placed several hundred post-its strewn across the house proclaiming my love, and promising my fidelity, not to mention the death and dismemberment to any who stand in our way. Yes, I will be Mr. Queen Amidala.

Oh, and X-men files get 2 stars.

I was grateful yet nervous to receive a phone call from the producers of 60 Minutes. My first though was, “This is a wondrous chance to get exposure for my harrowing yet inspiring cause!” My second thought was, “What is Spanky doing in my backyard with 2 midgets and 40 gallons of Rocky Road ice cream?”

I agreed to go to the interview, but I am starting to think it was a mistake. ‘Twas none other than Andy Rooney who interviewed me, may he rot in hell.

Below is a transcript.

* * *

(Rooney) Hello! Welcome to 60 minutes! With us is Bob, from sendbobtomars.com. Tell me a bit about yourself, Bob!

(Me) Thank you, Mr. Rooney, a pleasure to be here. A pleasure! Well, you see, it first started in St. Ignatius’ Deathful Home for-

(Loud sounds of flatulence in the background)

(Rooney) WHOA! You feeling okay there, Bob?

(Me) Sir! It was not I…surely you play a trick on me.

(Rooney) Suuure, whatever you say, farty. Now, tell me about your plans to go to Mars.

(Me) Indeed! Well, I think by using a mixture of nitrous oxide and a special type of rubber, I can burn-

(More flatulence sounds)

(Rooney) WHOOOAAA! I think I see the fuel you're burning! It’s called bean burrito!

(Canned laughter in the background)

(Me) Sir, I’m insulted yet frustrated. All I want is-

(More flatulence sounds)

(Rooney) WHOAAA! I see what you want! A cork!

(Canned laughter in the background)

(Me storming off stage, crying like a school girl.)

* * *

I think this episode airs sometime in August.

You’ll rue the day, Rooney. RUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee!